On the far side of the workroom an immaculate cloth had been set out, and on top of it were sheets and sheets of the finest snow-white tissue paper. The four women now brought the train over and spread it upon the tissue, adjusting and straightening until not a crease or bump remained. Then they layered more tissue on top and began the work of folding it away for its journey to Buckingham Palace.
Ann hadn’t expected it to be such a bittersweet moment. She would see the dress again in a matter of hours, but her part in its creation was over. This was the last time she would touch the flowers she had sewn, and the last time she would be close enough to see the tiny sprigs of white heather, tucked below one of the York roses at the bottom of the train, which were her gift to the princess.
While they had been packing the train, the women next door had been packing the gown, and Ann and Miriam now carried their folded and tissue-wrapped bundle to the sewing workroom. The gown, cushioned all round with poufs of tissue, had been nestled in an enormous box, fully six feet long and monogrammed with Mr. Hartnell’s initials. They set the train carefully atop the gown, and then they closed the box and tied its lid in place with loops of gleaming satin ribbon.
“There,” Ann said, and she stood back so the two footmen who usually greeted guests at the front door might carry the princess’s wedding finery to the waiting delivery lorry.
It was a moment of triumph for them all, and for Ann, especially, since so much of the important work had been entrusted to her care. She knew it, and she knew she ought to be bouncing with excitement like the other girls, so she made a brave show of it in the end, smiling and laughing and congratulating her friends on a job well done.
ACCORDING TO THE pass that had come along with her invitation, Ann had to be at Westminster Abbey no later than ten forty-five on the morning of the wedding. To that she planned to add at least another hour, for she dared not risk getting caught in the crowds. Unlike most of the other guests, she would be traveling via Underground and would have no liveried driver to chauffeur her up to the door.
She’d slept fretfully, stirring at the slightest noise and taking forever to settle again, and her worries had chased her from one dream to the next. The nausea she felt upon waking further compounded her misery, and at breakfast she was only able to nibble at some plain crackers.
She had to accept the truth. She was two weeks overdue, she was tired all the time, and she turned green at the sight of foods she’d always loved. She was pregnant, and no matter how long she thought about it and turned over the possibilities in her mind, she could imagine only one way forward. There was only one path to take, she knew, and it was going to break her heart.
Miriam had come downstairs at seven o’clock, her excitement over the coming day palpable, and it had been no easy thing to convince her friend that all was well and she had just slept poorly. “I was too excited to sleep,” she’d explained, and she had resolved, then, to pack away her troubles for the day.
Ann wore the best of her work dresses, its charcoal gray the least festive color she could imagine, but it would be covered entirely by the coat Carmen had lent her. Made of a gorgeous dark blue wool with a calf-length skirt and wide lapels that wrapped around her shoulders like a shawl, it was the perfect match to the hat that Jessie in millinery had let her borrow: a black felt oval trimmed with a pouf of ostrich fluff, a spiral of wired black ribbon, and the tip of one perfect peacock feather.
Earlier in the week Miss Duley had told Miriam that she would be going to the palace with Mr. Hartnell on the morning of the wedding, together with Mam’selle and the senior fitters, in case any emergency should arise that required the aid of an embroiderer. “You’re to meet them at his office at nine o’clock sharp on Thursday morning, then you’ll drive over together.”
As soon as Ann and Miriam were dressed they went to Mr. Booth from next door and asked him to take their picture, a memento of the day, and then, the sun scarcely up, they set off for the royal wedding. They took the same train into London, with Miriam changing at Charing Cross and Ann continuing on to Westminster. They had decided it would be too difficult to try to meet up afterward, so would return home separately.
The crowds were just as bad as Ann had feared, six deep in some places, but the wedding didn’t start for another two hours. She had plenty of time, and really all she had to do was cross the street and make her way to the abbey’s western door.
The day was cold and gray and the skies looked as if they might open at any moment, but nothing could dampen the good cheer of the crowds. Some people had been waiting all night, equipped with lawn chairs and blankets and baskets packed with sandwiches and flasks of tea, and many were sporting paper crowns or ancient top hats. The mood reminded her of VE Day, when she and Milly had come into London and waded through the crowds on the Mall to try to catch a glimpse of the king and queen and Mr. Churchill waving from the balcony. They’d stayed out all night, cheering and clapping and singing until their voices frayed to nothing, and just thinking of it now was almost too much to bear. She had been so full of hope that day.